


Two Days To Anaheim

by sensational_legislational



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, M/M, actual brand names, it's fanfiction so copyright doesn't count, starcraft 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensational_legislational/pseuds/sensational_legislational
Summary: Dirk's gotta get to Anaheim, but he can't make it on his own. He needs to enlist the help of Jake's cousin--some guy named John Egbert.(previously titled "Pure and Simple". "Two Days To Anaheim" was just a way cooler name.)





	1. Introduction

TT: Hey Jake.

 

GT: Oh, hello my friend! What’s on your mind?

 

TT: Nothin’ much. Got tickets for the tournament in Anaheim. They were like, 2 dollars. I’m broke now.

 

GT: Peachy!

 

TT: Only got one problem now.

 

GT: What’s that?

 

TT: Not sure my old rust bucket can take me down there. Really shitty planning on my part, but at least I wasn’t gonna use those 2 dollars on anything.

 

GT: Actually, that’s funny.

 

TT: I’m intrigued.

 

GT: My cousin was just popping down to Anaheim in a couple days. Would you have been leaving this weekend? Y’know, if your car hadn’t jammed all up.

 

TT: Yeah. You saying he should take me? Because I’m not really that thrilled about driving for 18 hours with some guy I don’t know. He might have some magical cocaine candy in his unmarked white van or something. Either figuratively or literally.

 

GT: Nonsense! I’m sure you’d get along just fine. Don’t you wanna see your game?

 

TT: I must admit, the idea of adventure is equally alluring and terrifying.

 

GT: That’s the spirit! I’ll tell him to pick you up once he leaves home.

 

TT: I didn’t think it was settled that quickly.

 

GT: Don’t you worry. You’ll have loads of fun. Besides, I’ll be alright without you!

 

TT: I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me.

 

GT: No! Not at all.

  
TT: You can tell me if I’m being too clingy, you know.

 

GT: You’re fine, Dirk. Go attend to your shenanigans.

 

TT: You sure?

 

GT: As sure as I can be!

 

TT: Guess I should start packing, huh.

 

GT: Right you are.


	2. Chapter 2

I guess I’m driving to the bottom of California today.

I mean, it’s not like I expected it to happen, but given my several days’ notice and compliant mood, I figure it’s better than not knowing what’ll happen tomorrow.

Anyway, I can take a hint. Jake wants some time alone, so I respect that. And I guess I have to make a sacrifice for him? I think I’m obligated to do that to be a real full-time, genuine bonafide boyfriend.

I probably should have gotten up earlier. It’s already 10 in the morning and I woke up like, 5 minutes ago. That’s fine, I can do without breakfast. Throughout the last few days, Jake and I have been talking about the morning we leave. John’s supposed to be here around 10, and I’m supposed to be ready. At least I packed last night. It pays to be organized sometimes in this damn stupid life.

I rub my eyes, massaging my face in an attempt to wake myself up somehow. I’ll probably pass out somewhere between here and Olympia, if all goes well. The bathroom sink is still running right in front of me. I turn it off. I can’t have much of a water bill until my next paycheck. I stare at my face in the mirror. Yeah, that’s me. I look like hell, but what’s different? I contemplate shaving this morning, but then I remember that I packed my razor already. No use digging that out when I’m barely going to make it out the door in time.

I hear a car horn somewhere outside. That’s probably my ride.

How do I know? Probably because it was the world’s politest honk. Its briefness and quietness made it the literal gentlest of car sounds that has ever graced the city of Seattle. Truly a gentleman’s honk. Only Jake’s relatives could produce such a honk from such a graceless vessel.

What a humorous and quirky tangent, I think to myself.

I leave the bathroom and grab my duffel bag. It’s kind of weird how nervous I am right now. It’s not a blind date, Dirk. It’s driving the length of the country with some guy you don’t know. How bad could it be?

There’s a mid-size silver sedan just outside my apartment. When I walk out, someone’s standing next to it, waving.

Jake?

No, it’s not Jake.

I squint a little. He looks so much like Jake. This guy could be his stunt double.

“Hey! Are you Dirk?” He sounds like Jake too.

“Physically? Yeah.” I figured this quip might make a good first impression or something. It might have done the trick. The Jake clone is smiling, showing that he has the same sense of humor as his counterpart.

“Nice to meet you! Go ahead and put your bag in the trunk. Unless you need it. Do you need it?”

“Nah, I’ll just keep it back there.” He pops the trunk open and I throw in my bag. Hope I didn’t pack anything fragile and forget about it. I close the trunk and make my way to the passenger side.

“Ready for a long drive?” He asks, turning on the ignition.

“Sure. Don’t really know. Road trips aren’t really my thing.”

“I don’t think it’s really anybody’s thing for more than an hour anyway,” said Jake Clone. He gradually steps on the gas. Guess there’s no backing away now. At least this guy isn’t a leadfoot like Jake. I can tell I’ll be judging his driving skills throughout the entire trip.

“Oh, I didn’t introduce myself! Sorry, that must have been weird. I’m John.” I really didn’t notice, but okay. I’d probably forget his name a couple times.

“Hey, John. I’m Dirk. But I think you already knew that or you wouldn’t have called my name like a minute ago.”

“Heh. Yeah.” We’re both really quiet for a while.

\--

We’re almost on the freeway now, and the rain is coming down in intermittent spatters. It’s Washington. What did we expect? John turns the wipers on a mid-level setting and breaks our silence.

“You really look familiar, Dirk. Do you have a brother or something?” I clench my teeth.

“Not that you’d know.”

“You sure? I’ve met a lot of people.”

“Yes, I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Whoa, sorry. Touchy subject?”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

“I’m really sorry. Way to make a first impression, huh?”

“Yeah.” If Jake had said that last part, it would have been endearing. Not this John guy though. Shit. I had to spend days on end trapped with him?

“Are you… hungry?”

“Where’d that come from?”

“Well…” He’s becoming more sheepish by the minute. “My grandma always told me that it’s harder to forgive people when you’re hungry. That might not have been true, but I was wondering if you’d heard it too.”

Who is this guy? Was he being all cutesy and innocent on purpose? He’s almost like a kid but he carries himself like an adult.

“I mean, I didn’t have breakfast…”

“Why didn’t you say so? Grab a granola bar or something! Here, I’ve got a whole box.” I think I’ve offended his great ancestors by skipping a meal. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other fishing around his footwell for his apparent treasure trove of granola bars.

“Dude! Don’t worry, I’ll get one! Just look at the road!” No matter how much I want to die, I still get nervous when the driver isn’t watching the road.

“Sorry, sorry. They’re right there, to my right.” He indicates the box with his right hand.

“It’s fine.” I lean over and snag the box with my fingertips and clumsily bring it up to my lap. It hasn’t been opened yet, so I tear at the cardboard for a little bit until the bars are prone for the taking. I take one, set the box down in my footwell, and examine the packaging.

“‘Nature Valley’? Is it gluten free and non-GMO too?”

“Heh, it kinda does sound like a health nut brand, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, it has plenty of corn syrup. Not watching my weight.” Seems reasonable enough. I forgot to ask if there was cocaine in it, but I don’t think this guy would be able to kill a spider, let alone give drugs to kids.

Am I a kid? No, wait. I’m 20. Damn.

I open the wrapper and discover two thin oat slabs.

“Two for the price of one, huh?”

“Have you really never had Nature Valley?”

“No, I like to eat real food. Like ramen.”

“There’s a first time for everything, I guess.” I slip one out of the packaging and take a bite. Crumbs cascade down my face. It’s really, really dry, but somehow still pretty tasty as far as granola bars go. I think.

“If it’s too dry, I’ve got a flat of water bottles in the back.”

“Aren’t you so diddly darn prepared to heck?”

“Language. Anyway, it’s important to drink a lot of water. Even though we aren’t really doing anything.”

“Whatever.” I probably shouldn’t talk with this crunchy nutrition nugget in my mouth. I’m getting crumbs in places I hope John doesn’t notice.

“How’s the bar?” I pause to swallow.

“Fine, I guess. Super dry. I’ll eat it, though.”

“I’ll get you a soda or something at the next gas station. Consider it a real apology for bringing up issues.”

“You really don’t have to. It’s… fine.”

“No, no. Treat yourself. Or let me treat you. It’s the least I can do.” I haven’t met a guy who’s so much like an old lady from Louisiana. Not even Jake is like this.

“Okay. I guess beggars can’t be choosers.” I’m too broke to refuse at this point.

\--

“So, what kind of person are you?” Asks John, after about 15 minutes of relative silence.

“Depends on what you want to know.”

“Like, what do you like to do?”

“That’s a shitty question.”

“I hate it too, but I’ve got nothing to work with here. I’ve gotta make conversation somehow!”

“Okay. Let’s see… I go to work, I come home, and I play StarCraft sometimes.”  
“Oh, I love StarCraft! What’s your main?”

“Toss. You?”

“Terran. I couldn’t get the hang of anything else after I played Wings of Liberty.” He played the campaign seriously? Must be a newbie.

“I don’t understand the professionals that can enter tournaments with a random race,” he continued. “They’ve got my respect, but also a lot of my fear. I hope I never have to play against one of them!” Yeah, that’ll probably never happen.

“What’s your league?”

“Grandmaster.”

“Holy shit.”

“I’m ranked 20-ish in my league. Still not as good as a lot of others, though.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re that good?”

“I guess? StarCraft seems to think that. What’s your league?”

“Just gold. It gives a man perspective to be in the presence of a Grandmaster.”

“It’s really not a big deal! Don’t be so surprised!” He’s blushing now. It would be pretty cute if he was Jake.

“‘Not a big deal’ my skinny gold-league ass. That’s incredible.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah I think so. I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, okay. But don’t go bragging about me or anything.” It’s not like I have anyone to brag to.

“We’ll see about that.”

\--

Conversation was slow for a while. We shared a few words about the weather and boring shit like that. Eventually we passed Olympia.

“How long have we been driving?” I asked.

“About an hour.”

“How long to Anaheim?”

“About 17 of those.”

“Hours?”

“Yeah.”

“Bring it.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Can you believe it’s only been three hours?” John says, stretching all his limbs emphatically. We’ve just arrived at a gas station in Portland, and he’s already outside of the car.

“Yeah. My perception of time is accurate, funnily enough,” I call to him from the passenger’s side.

“Whatever, dude. Can you, uh, get the fuel door?” I lean over to the driver’s side and press the switch. I hear a gentle pop from the side of the car.

“Thanks, Dirk.”

“Sure.” I see him insert the pump into the car and I fight to keep my head out of the gutter. Actually, no. I don’t fight it. I’m giggling inside.

“All right,” says John, leaning into the car. “Let’s go in so I can keep my promise of buying you a soda.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. We can get McDonald’s in there, too. You still hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“C’mon, then! I’ll get some sodas and you grab lunch. How’s that?”

“That’s fine.” I open the door and step out, feeling the pavement through the thin soles of my shoes. Damn. I need new shoes.

“What drink do you want?” asks John, practically skipping to the front door of the combination gas station and McDonald’s.

“Orange Fanta. Raised on the stuff.”

“Cool, cool.” John pushed open the door, holding it open for me. That’s gay.

“What should I get at Micky D’s?”

“Just a Big Mac. I’m not too picky.”

“‘Kay.” I spot the door to the restaurant and begin my quest. Yes, it’s technically a quest. It’s a journey with a purpose. It’s too badass of a term to just not use. I navigate the shelves packed with various snacks. I consider buying a few, but something tells me John’s already got a steady stack of road trip snacks.

I enter the McDonald’s. The vague smell of grease hangs in the air. Behind the counter is a tired-looking youth about my age. It’s like looking in a mirror. I avoid eye contact.

“Hey, welcome to McDonald’s. What can I get for you.”

“Hey. Can I get, uhh… a Big Mac and… a McGriddle?”

“Sorry, it’s 1 in the afternoon. Not making breakfast right now.”

“Shit, okay…” I pore over the menu, trying not to take too long. “Another Big Mac, what the hell.”

“Got it. Wanna make either of those a combo?”

“Nah.”

“Okay. Your total is gonna come to… seven ninety-eight.” I fish my wallet out of my pocket and take out my credit card. I swipe it on the pinpad and…

“Shit.” Declined. Of course it’s declined.

“Whoa, man. That really sucks.”

“Yeah…” I rub the back of my neck, speechless. This is it. I’ve hit rock bottom. Too poor for McDonald’s? Really? I look up at the cashier, but their eyes aren’t on me. The cashier is looking at someone behind me.

“Hey, Dirk. Making friends?” John. Sure, I’ll take it. I’ve been humiliated in front of worse people before. Maybe he’ll pay, too.

“Actually, uh…”

“His card was declined,” the cashier helpfully interjected.

“My card was… declined.” John keeps smiling. Has that guy ever lived in the real world?

“No worries about that, Dirk! I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, man.” I make eye contact with John for a split second. I catch a glimpse of deep, bright blue. How come I didn’t notice how blue his eyes are? They look photoshopped, but in real life.

The cashier smiles as John swipes his card.

“That was cute.”

“What?” Says John, not catching the cashier’s implication.

“I’m not gay,” I say, panicking. John shoots me a confused you’re-dating-my-male-cousin look. I shrug.

“If you say so. Your order will be ready in a couple minutes.”

“Okay, thanks!”

We select the cleanest table and sit opposite each other. I accidentally bump his legs with mine, so I shift to his right. Left. Whatever. All I know is that we’re both tall as hell.

There’s an awkward silence for a minute or so.

“You’re… not gay?” John asks.

“I panicked.”

“So you are gay.”

“Probably?”

“You’re dating Jake.”

“I’m dating Jake.”

“So that makes you gay.”

“Frankly, I think the concept is too loose for a clear definition. It’s based on gender. Gender isn’t real, John.”

“Right. But you’re a dude, right? And you like other dudes?”

“Yeah. Guess I’m pretty damn gay, huh.”

“Pretty damn gay.”

I glance over at the cashier to see if they were listening. They’re not there. My sexuality is safe.

“So, uh… did you get anything?” I ask John. His hands are under the table right now.

“Oh, yeah.” John places two bottles of soda on the tabletop, one orange Fanta and one Pepsi. “I normally get diet Pepsi, but I figured I’d need the energy to keep me awake on the drive.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s not really how sugar works. Second, it’s barely one o’-clock. You’re tired?”

“Yeah, I woke up really early. Forgot to pack before the trip.”

“How far away do you live?”

“Just Maple Valley.”

“It takes you that long to pack?”

“Hey, a man’s gotta have his daily routine!”

“All right, I won’t judge.” I stare out the window for a minute. It’s certainly a pretty place, as far as bigger cities go. There’s something about the overcast sky that makes the green of the trees seem shockingly bright. Maybe that explains John’s eyes.

“So… Portland, huh?” John says, following my gaze out to the street. Several people pass by on bicycles in typical Oregon fashion.

“Sure is.”

“Seen any weirdos?”

“Other than myself? Not yet.”

A man clothed entirely in Sun Chips bags walks past our window.

John and I stare at this man. We stare for so long at this Sun Chip Man. I see John crack a smile. My face practically splits open. I can’t stop laughing. I literally cannot stop laughing.

“Dirk!” John’s laughing, too. “Are you okay?”

“ _ That is the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. _ ” I’m wheezing.

“Was it though?”

“ _ Where’s that guy GOING? _ ”

“The Sun Chips Place?”

“ _ THE SUN CHIPS PLACE! _ ” I’m having so much trouble breathing.

“Guest 24!” Shouts an employee.

“ _ Can you get that for me, _ ” I gasp.

“Sure thing, buddy.” John’s lightly laughing as he goes up to the counter to pick up our food. Through watery eyes, I can see the employee raising their eyebrow at John. I can’t see any more of the interaction. My stomach muscles are starting to hurt. I feel the table shake a little as John settles down and puts the tray on the table.

“Recovered yet?

“Why was that so  _ funny _ ,” I wheeze.

“Dunno, dude. You’re the one still laughing.” I’m starting to clear up. John tosses me a burger.

“You got a Big Mac too?”

“Yeah,” I croak. “They don’t serve breakfast past 11.”

“Ah, so you’re a breakfast guy. Okay.” He takes a bite of his burger and a bit of the sauce drips on his fingers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, struggling to pry open the cardboard container. I hate those things.

“Certain types of people like McDonald’s breakfast.”

“Are you?”

“HELL no.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Don’t shit on McDonald’s breakfast.”

“It tastes like plastic! I have every right.”

“You take that back.”

“You gonna eat your burger or what?” Fine, fine. I’ll do what the blasphemer says. Doesn’t mean I’ll like it.

 

\--

 

“That sure is a big-ass river.”

“We crossed the Columbia less than an hour ago, Dirk.”

“Isn’t this one bigger?”

“No? It’s the Willamette. It stems off the Columbia.”

“Well excuse me for my lack of knowledge about big-ass rivers.”

“You’re so weird.”

“I try.” 

Rain is beginning to patter on the windshield. It’s not like it’s been raining for the entire trip or anything. But I don’t mind. As long as the driver can drive in it, the rain kinda makes me feel safe.

“You’re gazing out the window again. Looks like you’re in a music video.”

“For all you know, I am.”

“Does the rain make you think?”

“I’m always thinking.”

“Huh. Okay, does the rain make you feel?”

“What are you, a psychiatrist?”

“I have people skills. It’s on my resume.” I guess I’ll have to spout some poetic bullshit to get him to shut up.

“Well, it helps me not feel, let’s put it that way.” If John knew what was best for him, he would stop right there.

“Oh…” I can practically hear him weighing whether or not he should pry. “Life tough?” I sigh. Can we stop talking?

“I’m tough on life. That’s it. End of story.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I  _ mean… _ ” I’m getting a little too bitter. I tone it down a bit. “I’m dead weight. No skills to contribute. I also kinda hate myself? I’m slightly less unlikeable than Satan’s asshole.” Wait, that was true. Wasn’t I supposed to be bullshitting this? John is silent for a little too long.

“I don’t think you’re any of that.”

“Great. I’m cured now.”

“No, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I’ve spent a lot of time around people, and…” He looks at my expression and cuts off that train of thought. He sighs. “I’m sorry you feel that way about yourself. And I guess I’m sorry I can’t do much to change that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t remember the last time I liked myself anyway.” Why am I oversharing with this guy again?

“But I think we can all agree that you’re not… uh, how did you put it?”

“Slightly less unlikeable than Satan’s asshole?”

“Yeah, that. I mean, I like you. So you’re not that unlikeable.”

“I have a boyfriend.” His eyes widen.

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that! Dirk!” I crack a smile.

“What? Even the cashier at that McDonald’s was shipping us.”

“They were what?”

“You didn’t catch that?”

“No! Are you just messing with me?”

“I swear by my warrior’s honor.”

“For what that’s worth, am I right?”

“No, I’m a trained samurai.”

“Very funny.”

The rain is stopping. It’s still pretty cloudy out, but John’s turning off the windshield wipers. I stare at the road in front of us, counting the dashes on the lane boundaries. I hope I don’t have to talk again. That guy next to me has ways of making me say stuff I don’t want to say.

The windshield seems so much clearer now. Had we gone through a dirty region since our last rainstorm? I can’t remember. But somehow whatever was on the glass had washed away. It reminds me of some pensive song in the back of my memory, too faint to repeat. Something Jake and I used to love.

What happened to us?


	4. Chapter 4

“Aren’t capital cities, like, supposed to not be really shitty?” I say this as we exit Salem, one of the most boring cities in Oregon. Except maybe Boring.

“Well, it wasn’t until you showed up.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” John actually was pretty funny. It was a timely joke considering the length of the rest stop we’ve just taken and what I did to make it that lengthy. But I can’t express humor without breaking my cool and handsome facade, so I can’t let him know.

“Capital cities aren’t really that big of a deal anyway,” John continues. “It’s just where the state government hangs out.” I turn my body around and extend my middle finger toward the direction of the city we just left.

“You’d better put that down, Dirk. They’re the ones that got rid of sales tax in Oregon.” I lower my gesture a little.

“How am I supposed to stick it to the government if they’re actually doing stuff that matters?”

“Well, that was one time. They’ve probably done a lot of other stuff that isn’t as good.”

“So I’m justified?”

“Guess so.” I finish my protest against the government and turn back around. The road ahead of us is growing increasingly more underwhelming. Through the last couple miles, the conifer-heavy landscape has started to fade into grass. Boring, boring yellow grass. Not like I care about my surroundings that much. It’s better than concrete.

“So what’s the next major city I can flip off?”

“Well, we’ll be passing through Eugene in about an hour. Nobody from the government hangs out there, but there’s probably a bunch of hippies.”

“Nah, they’re cool. They’re better at being poor than I am. If that’s possible.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s possible.”

“Nope. Not possible. I am rocking this poor thing. I even made you pay for lunch.”

“That was charity, Dirk!”

“Charity doesn’t exist. There’s gotta be someone pulling the strings.” John pauses for a moment, probably to think of a clever rebuttal.

“Well, what about going all the way down to Anaheim? That wasn’t a smart choice for someone who’s so good at being poor.”

“The tickets were like, two bucks. I just sorta… spaced the fact that I have a shitty car.”

“Wait, tickets? To what?”

“Jake didn’t tell you where I was going?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a StarCraft tournament.” John’s expression is equally hilarious and concerning.

“MLG Anaheim 2014?” His jaw is hanging slightly open and his lips are parted. It kinda reminds me of Jake.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You going too or something?”

“Dude… I’m  _ in _ that tournament.”

Holy shit.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, one hand ruffling through his hair and one loosely holding the wheel.

“What’s your username?”

“Heir. It used to be Heir_of_Breath. Y’know, with underscores and everything. I changed it when I found out that real professionals keep it to one, maybe two words.”

“Heir, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s… me.”

“... Never heard of you.”

“Haha, yeah… I’m kind of a minor player right now. I don’t think I deserve to be up there where sOs was, at least yet. It’s pretty scary. I’ll be in the same tournament as Trap!  _ Trap _ ! Do you know what a big deal he is?”

“Vaguely.”

“The dude’s insane! And there’s like, so many talented players that are coming this year… I really hope you only bought tickets for one night. Because at this point I’m not gonna make it to pool play.”

“They covered the entire event. Anyways, I think I’ll have to ban you from saying stuff like that. I’m the only self deprecating asshole allowed in this car.”

“But I’m not that good!”

“Still, dude. You’re  _ in _ a tournament. That’s quite something.”

“Just this one. Dunno if I’m gonna like it.”

“You’d better like it, mister. I’m totally gonna watch a few of your brackets.” As bros do. Right? If it was Jake I would have watched his brackets too. Wait, no. That’s a bad comparison.

“Just a few?” John feigned a pout.

“I wanna see Scarlett.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Hell yeah.”

We sit in silence for a minute. John rubs his eyes and blinks at the road.

“So… any more secrets?” I ask.

“What?”

“I need to know if you’re planning to drop any more truth bombs on me when I’m least expecting it. I gotta prepare myself. Are you a hippie? a vampire? Spill it.”

“No, dork. I’m just a regular guy.”

“It’s Dirk, and you’re a regular guy with mad skills.”

“You should meet some of those Korean players.”

“Well, you’re not Korean.”

“Yeah I am.”

“Oh, wow. Okay, I retract that statement.”

“What did you think I was?”  _ Shit _ . Okay, Dirk. Time to do some serious backpedaling before you end up being the Judgemental White Guy.

“I dunno, it would have been weird to ask.” Nailed it. “And Jake’s not Korean.”

“Okay, you got me. I’m mixed. Mom was Korean.”

“Ha. So I’m half right.”

“And half wrong.”

“Yeah, whatever. Wait, I thought blue eyes were a recessive gene.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Genetic science.”

“You’ve studied genetics before? That’s cool.”

“I went to high school. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, for about a year. It was kinda brutal though, so my dad decided to homeschool me. I don’t remember much from high school.”

“Homeschool?” Oh boy. Here’s the kicker. John’s a weirdo. I knew it all along.

“Yeah, I was homeschooled.”

“So… did your dad, like… teach you stuff?”

“The Internet exists, Dirk. In-person classes are superfluous.”

“Right. But isn’t that what homeschool is?”

“No, it literally just means… schooling… at home.”

“So you just take online classes and avoid the social pressure and the individuality-crushing atmosphere of a public schooling organization?”

“That’s the ticket.”

“Sounds… how do I phrase it… dope as hell.”

“Honestly, Dirk, out of everyone I’ve had this conversation with, you’re the one that picked it up the fastest.”

“Guess I’m a genius.”

“Nah, more like a guy that doesn’t want me to be a weirdo.”

Wait… did he know what I was thinking? No, I wasn’t even thinking that. Was I? I’d better check. I need to have the upper hand on this guy.

“Come again?”

“Well, most people who talk to me about it don’t really know me that well, so it’s fine for them if I turn out to be weird. But you’re kinda different. I’ve just got a feeling that you want to be friends.” Huh. Just like Jake. He feels instead of thinks. That’s good to know.

“Friends are overrated. I just don’t want to be stuck in a car for 18 hours with some weird guy, that’s it.”

“Y’know, Dirk… somehow, I don’t buy that.”

“The declination of your purchase is acknowledged.”

“Just like an hour ago?”

“Ha ha.” I sort of half laugh, switching quickly back to my neutral mask.

“You smiled a little! Now I’m getting somewhere.”

“No I didn’t. Trick of the light.”

“You can’t stay the cool, silent type forever, you know.”

“You think I’m cool? I’m honored.”

“Well, that’s kind of what I meant, but not really. I’m pretty sure you know that, though.”

“You’re impossible,” I say, shifting in my seat.

“You’re even more impossible. I can barely figure out who you are!” Good. “But... I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

“Oh,  _ are you? _ ” I say condescendingly.

“Yep. And I’m not gonna tell you what I’ve got so far.”

“Hmph.” Let him think what he wants. I’m an endless labyrinth of bad decisions. “Do my good looks factor into that?”

Why in the freshest of hells did I ask that? John smiles a little. “I told you I wasn’t gonna tell you.”

I look out the window to avoid eye contact. I have a boyfriend.

 

\--

 

“You’re right. There are a lot of hippies in this town.”

“It’s like a portal to the sixties. At least it’s pretty around here.” John’s right. For now, the yellow grass has receded in favor of lush greenery and flowers. I guess that’s why the hippies hang out here.

“Are those daffodils?” John said, squinting at some small yellow flowers to the side of the road. I take a look along with him. The flowers are kind of wilty and small, but they have a distinctive shape.

“I’d reckon they are.”

“I didn’t know they could grow in the wild!”

“Guess they do here. It’s kinda late for daffodils, though. Guess that’s why they’re wilting a little.”

“You’re a flower guy?”

“I’ve accumulated knowledge about a lot of stuff, flowers included.”

“That’s cool. I wish I knew more about flowers. I also wish it was societally typical to give flowers to boys. They’re pretty. The flowers, not necessarily the boys. But sometimes the boys.”

“Are you gay?” I’ve never asked that to John. Huh.

“Still questioning. Girls are really pretty, but so are boys. Girls get flowers, though. I’m just jealous, I guess.”

“Well, I have a feeling you won’t have to worry about that, John. I’m sure you’ll be adopted as a flower child once we’re halfway through Eugene.”

“I wish.”

We begin driving across a bridge. The water below is splashing and bouncing lazily under the road. The diffused light from the clouds above cast a gray sheen on the water. It looks cold. I bring my arms closer to my body instinctively, even though I’m not cold.

“Don’t tell me… this is the Columbia?”

“We’re far from the Columbia now. This is the Willamette.”

“Again?”

“The whole city is built around it. We’re gonna cross it a lot.”

I turn to my right again. Several patches of ground extend above the water. A shopping cart is sitting on one of the islands.

“How’d that get there?” I say quietly.

“What?”

“That shopping cart right there.” John leans over my direction. He squints a little and grins. His eyes sparkle a little.

“Boat, I guess?”

“Maybe. Someday, I strive to be as chaotic neutral as that.”

“You play D&D?”

“Nah. Don’t have the time or the friends. It’s just a circulating meme.”

“Oh.”

We reach the end of the bridge and a sizeable pine tree blocks our view of the lonely shopping cart.

“Wonder if it’s a metaphor,” John says.

“Of course it is. Everything’s a metaphor if you’re enough of a pretentious art student.”

“Haha, yeah…”

“So, uh… are we stopping here?”

“Well, is there anything we need?”

“Not really. Flowers?”

“Hehe, nah. We can’t take care of them in a car.”

“Right.”

“We should just enjoy the scenery while we have it. We’ll be going east soon.”

“What’s east?”

“Jack shit.”

“Great.”

“Well, soak in the green.”

“Already on it.”

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s almost been 5 hours since we’ve begun. Funny. I didn’t notice the time passing much in the last hour. Maybe this won’t be an excruciating trip after all. In fact, I think I’m gonna like it. Now that’s a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in 2014. It's in the height of popularity for the Heart of the Swarm StarCraft II expansion pack, which is the only pack of StarCraft I really understand. Also, this tournament was real! Look it up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was considering adding a chapter just before this one where they visited In-N-Out for dinner, but I decided against it because there was literally just a mealtime chapter like, two chapters ago. But once I finish this work, I might decide to go back and write it. What do you guys think? Feel free to comment if you have anything to say.

A startling rumble shakes the car.

“Shit! Dude!” John guides our car off the rumble strip and back into our lane.

“Sorry! I just…” John stifles a yawn. “I’m kinda tired…” I look at the analog clock on the dashboard.

“It’s 7:30.”

“That clock’s a couple minutes ahead. More like 7:20.”

“Whatever. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Barely.” We run over an object in the road and I instinctively grip the handle over the door. I need to get this dude off the road.

“I think we should stop for the night.”

“Nah, like you said, it’s only 7:30. I can keep driving for another hour.” My heart rate is quicker than it should be.

“John. This is dangerous. Look at this road, it’s super boring. There’s no way you’ll stay awake.”

“I’m trying!”

“You’ve barely talked since dinner. That was, what, an hour ago? That’s really unusual for you.”

“... Hey,” says John, catching it a bit too late for my liking.

“We’re stopping for the night at the next town.”

“I can keep going.”

“Nope. Besides, your fuel light’s on.” John looks at the dashboard.

“Shit. How long has that been on?”

“About 15 minutes.” John sighs deeply and blinks at the road.

“Okay. Fine. Just… start looking. For hotels.” Yes. Okay. I take my phone from my pocket and turn on my location.

“Don’t fall asleep while I’m looking.”

“I can drive on my own!”

“I can and will keep talking to keep everyone in this car alive.” Google Maps loads up. I search for the cheapest hotel in the next city. “Hey, check it out. The next town is called Weed.”

“It’s what?”

“Weed.” John smiles a little, only slightly showing his teeth.

“Heh. Don’t know what I expected from Oregon.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that statement you just made.”

“Why?”

“We crossed the California border like, 45 minutes ago.”

“Oh.” My phone completes its search. I tap on the cheapest option and it shows me the precise directions.

“Here we go. Motel 6. It’s literally just off the exit after this next one and it’s super cheap.”

“Got it.” John looks a little more relieved than he’s letting on. “So the exit after this one?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Okay. Let’s hope I can stay awake.”

“I’ll make sure you do.”

“Thanks.” John rubs his eyes with his left hand. He’s starting to develop bags under his eyes. It’s weird how it makes him look less like Jake. He’s always well rested. That’s something we’ve never had in common. Not that we’d had a lot in common to begin with.

“Just watch the road,” I say uselessly.

“That’s what I’m doing.”

 

\--

 

A few minutes pass before we pull into the parking lot of the Motel 6. It’s a simple motel with two buildings and outward-facing doors. The parking lot is small, but so is the motel. We ease between two yellow lines and come to a stop. John’s pretty good at parking, even when he can barely see straight. It isn’t even dark out yet, but it somehow feels like the day is almost over. The cloudy haze in the sky is almost narcotic when we stumble out of the car.

“Want me to grab our stuff?” John says.

“Nah, we don’t know which building we’re in. It’d be easier to drive to our door.”

“Okay.” We sluggishly make our way to the front door. It’s quiet inside, except for the gentle royalty-free piano music playing through unseen speakers.

“Welcome to Motel 6,” says the clerk through an impressive mustache.

“Room for two, please,” I say, admiring his facial hair.

“Well, I’ve got news for you, boys.” Oh great. “All the rooms are taken except for one.”

“That’s a relief.”

“But I hope you two are boyfriends. It’s a single king-size bed.”

“Aw shit.” I rub my face. “You sure that’s the only one?”  
“Yep. Big ol’ convention in this area. Booked us all the way full.” I turn to John.

“Wanna go somewhere else?”

“I doubt you’ll have much luck anywhere else around here,” the clerk interjects. “It’s a big convention. D’you think this place was their first choice?”

“Dirk, it’s… fine. That’ll do, sir.”

“What?” I say, frowning at John.

“I think you two should discuss this more thoroughly,” the clerk says, sort of backing away from the counter and gazing away. He’s right.

“So what, Dirk? It’s a king-size bed. We won’t be touching or anything.”

“I have a boyfriend!’

“Okay! If you don’t like it, you can drive us somewhere else.”

“... I don’t know how to drive stick shift.”

“Right. Okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. His movements are so lethargic. I almost feel pity for him.

“I’ll sleep on the floor or something. Maybe the couch if there is one,” I concede.

“Fine. As long as I can get to bed.” He makes eye contact with me, then splits away to get the clerk’s attention. “Excuse me, sir. We’ll be staying tonight.”

“All right. You’ll be in room 1024. Make sure to check out before 11 a.m..” He hands us a room key.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and, uh… Don’t file a noise complaint if our residents are rowdy tonight. I’ve heard some pretty nasty stuff about their kind.”

“Their kind?” says John, still inquisitive even when exhausted.

“Well, let’s just say this.” The clerk leans forward a little. “There aren’t any convention centers here in Weed. They’re the type that would stay in this town just because of its name.”

“Oh,” says John in a hushed voice. I don’t get it.

“Well, you two have fun.”

“We will,” I say as we walk out.

“... ‘We will’?” John says a few paces after the door closes behind us.

“Oops.”

“Psh.” John grins, his tired eyes shining. “It was his fault for asking a weird question like that.”

“Sure, sure. Where’s room 1024?” We scan the motel buildings.

“Right there,” says John, pointing to a room on the main building. “Looks like we don’t have to move the car.”

“Gotcha.”

“Let me pop the trunk.” John jogs lazily ahead and opens the car door. He bends over and presses the button so the trunk swings open. Inside are our bags, just as they were when I put mine in like, 9 hours ago. I pick up my duffel bag. It’s a little heavier than I remember, but maybe I’m just a wimp. John grabs his, closes the trunk, and we walk to our room.

After fiddling with the key for a while, we soon discover that there is, in fact, no couch. There’s a table and a desk chair. Guess that’s tough luck for me. I’ll make do. I don’t sleep much anyway. The curtains in the room are already drawn, leaving the space dark enough to sleep in.

“At least it smells nice,” John says. He isn’t wrong. The hotel room seems clean enough to not be gross. I’ve definitely slept in worse places, namely my own apartment.

“I don’t think I have the energy to brush my teeth or anything,” John mutters. He drops his bag on the floor.

“That’s fine. It’s not like my face is gonna be three feet from your face all day tomorrow.”

“I’ll brush in the morning,” he says, kicking his shoes off into the middle of the floor.

“I hope so.” I step into the bathroom. Might as well brush right now since I’m not gonna eat anything until tomorrow. Before I do that, I steal a quick glance at the shower. Damn. Just a standing shower, not a bathtub. I’ve slept in a bathtub before. I don’t really remember it, but I still technically did. Looks like the floor’s still the best option.

I unzip the side pocket in the bag, only to find a bunch of charger cables and a USB drive. I didn’t bring either of those.

“John,” I call as I open the bathroom door. “I’ve got your… bag.”

John’s halfway pantsless, revealing his stylish Ghostbusters boxers.

“Oh, that’s weird,” He says, kicking his pants off to the fullest extent and climbing under the covers. “Do we have the same brand of bag or something?

“I dunno, I didn’t notice. Where’d you put the other one?”

“It’s under my pants over there.”

“Okay.” I take note of the pants atop the bag. I drop John’s bag next to it and grab the pants. They’re still warm to the touch.

“Where do I put your, uhh… pants?”

“Hmm? Oh, just… fling them somewhere.”

“Okay.” I fling them somewhere. “Good night I guess?”

“Good night, I guess.” He rolls over in bed, indicating that the conversation is over. I grab my bag and begin my nightly routine.

It’s weirdly quiet in the bathroom. Other than the steady hum of the overhead light, there’s nothing. Just me and my reflection. It’s been awhile since we last met. I stare him down with the steely gaze of a grizzled action hero. He does the same. Both of us are unshaven and slightly gaunt-looking. At least I can fix one of those. After I brush, of course.

A few minutes later, I vacate the bathroom, ready to spend a few hours in silence while my traveling companion sleeps. Maybe even sleep, too. Who knows.

I sit down on the office chair quietly and pull out my phone. The little slip the room key was in had the wifi password on it, so now all I have to do is log in before I can bask in the warm glow of my device.

“Dirk!” Calls a whisper from the bed.

“What?” I say, not whispering.

“Aren’t you coming?” I look down at my phone.

“Phrasing.”

“I’m serious! Isn’t it cold out there?” I do a quick temperature check on myself.

“Uhh, kinda? Not really? I’m not really that tired.”

“But if you come lay down right now, you won’t have to worry about waking me up later. You can still be on your phone and stuff.”

“I’m not into sleeping with my boyfriend’s cousin. He wouldn’t take kindly to that.”

“Come on! It’s only weird if you think about it.” I raise an eyebrow at him, which he probably can’t see because the room is still pretty dark. “Plus, you’re not gonna get any sleep like that.”

“I’m not gonna be running a marathon tomorrow.”

“You still need sleep.”

“Sure, sure.” I open my social media app of choice and begin scrolling.

“Dirk!”

“What?”

“Just because two guys are sleeping in the same bed doesn’t mean they’re together.”

“Mm-hmm.” A meme scrolls onto my screen. How lovely.

“It’s a thing that we need to do! Necessity, Dirk. Didn’t you ever go to a sleepover as a kid?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not helping,” he pouts.

“I know.”

“... Will it help if I put on pants?”

“What? No! I’m not gonna, like…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is it’s weird, John!”

“Why? Why is it weird?”

“It just is.”  
“That’s not something a true millennial would say.”

“Now that’s a low blow.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you sleep in this bed tonight, I won’t bug you for the rest of the night.” I look up from my phone.

“Okay. It’ll make you shut up?”

“Yep.”

“... Will you stay close to the edge?”

“I’ll give you my word as a Spaniard.”

“No, that’s no good. I’ve known too many Spaniards.” John gives a small laugh.

“See? We’re both cool dudes. The Princess Bride is the height of the common human experience. I’m sure the laws of the universe will recognize that.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with this situation.”

“Who cares? Come on!” I sigh.

“Fiiiiiiine.”

“Yay! It’ll be just like a sleepover.”

“What are you, eight?” I say as I gingerly lift the covers on my side of the bed.

“On a scale of one to ten, yeah.”

“Not a scale of one to eight?”

“Gotta be humble.”

“All right. Goodnight, dude. No homo.”

“No homo.”

With that word, John keeps his promise. I don’t hear a word from him for the rest of the night.

You know, I think he was right. It is just like a sleepover. Maybe I should get my head out of my ass one of these days. I put my phone down on the nightstand next to me and close my eyes. I hear John’s breathing next to me, slow and methodical. I feel my own breath syncing up with it.

I could get used to this.


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up to the bed shifting. Jake’s getting up. I furrow my brow and adjust my position in the bed. Damn Jake. Always getting up before me. Man, when was the last time we slept together? It’s been ages.

I open my eyes. I’m definitely not where I thought I was.

Shit. I slept with Jake’s cousin.

Wait. I slept with Jake’s cousin. It... wasn’t weird? Shouldn’t it be weird? Maybe it was Jake this whole time and my grip on reality is loosening.

My bedmate opens the curtains and lets the blinding sunlight in. It shines right in my eyes, so I squint and blink at the nearest object.

Oh, yeah. That’s not Jake. The curve of his ass is rounder.

“Scoping out something, Sleeping Beauty?” says John, looking at me over his shoulder.

“Well I was gonna deny it until you pulled out that one-liner. What time is it?”

“7:05.”

“Hell no. I’m going back to bed.”

“No you aren’t.” John grabs a fistful of sheets from his side of the bed and pulls it all to the end of the bed. Who does that?!

“Joooohn!”

“Get up! We’ve got a whole day of driving today!”

“It’s so cold, John. Tuck me back in.”

“I’m not your papa. Get dressed, you’ll be less cold.”

“I can’t believe it. Neglecting your own son.” John responds by throwing a pair of pants at me. Whatever,  _ dad. _ I’m my own man now. I grab the pants off my back and shift again under the sheets. Where’s my phone? I look at the nightstand. There it is, glinting in the morning sunlight. Abandoned. The bed ends about 3 feet away from me. Ugh. I move myself a few feet toward the nightstand so I can grab my phone. I clumsily snatch it and plug into the Internet with delight.

I hear toothbrush sounds from the bathroom. What kind of guy wakes up at 7:00 on vacation? This counts as a vacation, right? At least it’s more motivation for me to act functional. I should put on these pants John gave me.

After just one more meme.

 

\--

 

When John and I approach the main desk, the clerk regards us solemnly. He’s slumped down on the desk and his eyes are red.

“Mornin’, fellas. Sleep well?”

“Yeah. You have a rough night?” says John.

“I’ll say. The convention-goers were real party animals late in the night. And I mean that in more ways than one.” Oh yeah. John got to sleep before the noise started. I just fell asleep with my earbuds in. Somehow.

“Wow, I’m sorry about that, sir. I should tip you or something.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s part of a hotel worker’s code of honor.”

“If you say so.”

“So you checking out?”

“Yep.” I sorta space out here. I absentmindedly direct my gaze out through the glass doors to the parking lot. The air looks clear and warm, or at least warmer than Washington. A small group of crows pecks at something on the ground. Sorry, a small  _ murder _ of crows. Terminology. The sky is a pleasant light blue with very few clouds, illuminated very softly by the sun. I think morning skies are underappreciated. At least for me. I usually don’t wake up early. 

I think I glimpse a bundle of neon orange fur around the corner. Before I can investigate further, John touches my shoulder. Maybe I should be part of this conversation.

“Am I right?” says John.

“Yep,” I say. It’s a pretty safe answer considering I have no idea what I’m agreeing to. John laughs and keeps talking. I wish I had his social skills. The clerk seems pretty into it. I think John’s magic or something. I know if a bunch of ambiguous convention attendees had kept me up all night, I wouldn’t be so eager to talk.

Wait, why did they keep him up all night? Does he live here?

“Thanks for staying with us tonight,” says the clerk. That’s my cue to zone back into the conversation.

“Thanks for having us,” I add.

“Take care, man. Tell your kids I said hi,” says John. He got far enough into that conversation to talk about family? Maybe I should have listened.

“Drive safe.” We walk through the doors toward our car. John’s wearing this great big smile.

“What a nice guy.”

“Did you get his number?”

“What? Ew. He’s married.” I feel myself crack an involuntary smile for a split second.

“It’s just a joke, dude.”

“You’re a joke,” John says, half-pouting.

“Harsh, but true.” I get in the passenger seat of our car. At this point, it should be molded to my butt.

John turns on the ignition. The car starts, as cars tend to do when you turn on the ignition. I watch John do a double take on the gas gauge.

“Whoa. We need gas.”

“No shit. It was on for so long last night and I just waited until you’d notice. You never did.”

“Must have been really tired, huh?” John leans back in his chair and purses his lips, probably trying to recall what happened last night. “Wait,” he says. “Didn’t you say it had been on for 15 minutes?”

“A simple exaggeration. Understatement, I should say.” We begin to pull out of the parking lot. Mt. Shasta stands on the horizon, much bigger than how it looks in pictures. The top is obscured by clouds. It all looks like a traditional Japanese painting, except in California. A gas station sign looms a half mile-ish away from us.

“I barely even noticed that mountain last night.”

“Seriously?” I say. “You missed the entirety of Mt. Fuj-dammit.”

“Haha!” John bursts, as if he’s made a grand discovery. “You’re a weeb!”

“It was a Freudian slip. Besides, it takes one to know one.”

“I knew it all along! You can’t deny it.”

“So what? I may be interested in a certain form of foreign media. Classical art experts get away with it, so why can’t I?”

“That’s… actually a great point, Dirk. I think I’m gonna use that next time someone makes fun of my own weebiness.”

We drive to the gas station, making small talk as we go. Mostly about anime. Not hentai, though. I have a feeling that John’s not ready for that knowledge. Maybe when he’s older.

“We getting breakfast at this gas station?”

“Gas station breakfast? I think not.”

“You’re right. We’ll fill up here and then grab breakfast somewhere else.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

 

\--

 

“Ray’s Food Place?” I say, scrolling through the food options at the next few exits.

“You kidding? That’s such an untrustworthy title.”

“It’s not a restaurant,” I say, playing along with the joke. “It’s a Food Place.”

“Yeah, you get it. No thank you.” I scroll down a little more.

“Burger King?”

“Not necessarily  _ breakfast _ , but I’m down with it.”

“Mealtime restrictions are for suckers,” I agree.

“So that’s our choice?”

“I guess. Nothing else is coming up. Unless you want to give Ray’s Food Place a try.”

“Hell no.”

“Alright.” We begin to pass a giant, cone-shaped hill. It’s covered densely in deep green trees split by clear spots of light brown dirt. It’s been there since we left Weed. And probably a really long time before that.

“Nice butte,” John says.

“Funny joke. Even though it doesn’t make sense unless you read it.”

“Yeah, the pronunciation kinda messes that up, huh.”

“You tried.”

“That’s all that matters!”

“Sure.”

We approach the town, although we can’t see much of it because of the flat terrain. Pine trees line the road, but Google Maps sees more.

“The city of Mt. Shasta better be ready for us. We’re gonna eat them out of their winter supply,” I say jokingly.

“Don’t you mean Mt. Fuji?”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up.”

 

\--

 

Outside the slightly grimy Burger King window, several cars drive lazily by. There’s a sign on the road advertising a hotel.

“Maybe we should have stayed over there last night,” I say, pointing to it.

“No use having regrets.”

“I guess.” I take a bite of my whopper. I still don’t know why it’s called a whopper. It’s not even that big. Some small clanking noises come from the kitchen, and a few other patrons of Burger King have quiet conversations around us.

“Do you regret last night?” he asks.

“About sleeping with you?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah.”

“Well, like…” I think for a bit. “It was… fine? It didn’t feel like you were coming onto me or anything.”

“Yeah, but did it make you uncomfortable? I need to know if I pushed your barriers too far or anything.”

“No, not really. I mean, I guess I was being a stubborn ass about it. But I’m not gonna regret it for the rest of my waking days or anything.”

“Good. Good to know.” John takes a sip of his drink.

“You?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” We eat in silence. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the quiet chatter of the patrons is weirdly peaceful. Even the conversational situation that just happened isn’t awkward, like it feels it should be. It’s just kinda… there. And we’re just kinda here.

“It feels like we’ve been on the road for days,” John says softly.

“No kidding.”

“Do you feel that too?”

“Yeah, this drive sure is going slow.”

“No, not that. I mean… how this place feels.”

“Oh, the atmosphere of a liminal space?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I feel it.” I don’t elaborate, mostly because talking kinda ruins the mood. I lean back in my seat. Nothing really seems like anything. Not my past, or even my home in Washington. Is it calming or terrifying?

“Wow… that’s funny,” John continues.

“Yeah?”

“We’re synced already.”

“I mean, we did have the same feeling at the same time. Does that count as synced?”

“Yeah, in my book. It’s kinda like… it’s just us right now?”

“No homo.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, Dirk.”

“I know. Giving you a hard time.” John sighs and smiles at the sky absentmindedly. His eyes reflect its potent blue.

“This is nice.”

“Agreed. Let’s eat slower.”

“Too late.” John gestures at his mostly-done burger.

“You’re fast.”

“What can I say? Live fast, die hard.”

“I think that’s the furthest thing from your actual personality I’ve ever heard you say.” John’s lips part in a grin.

“You almost done?” He indicates my half-finished burger with his eyes.

“Not that hungry. I think I’ll just take the rest with me.”

“Alright.” He begins loading our scraps and wrappers onto the tray. I fold a wrapper around my half-burger, trying my best to secure it in place. It’s not a perfect bundle, but I can just set it down and it’ll stay together. John and I exit our booth, John with the tray and me with my future lunch. Or brunch. Depending on when I’m hungry.

I have to sort of stand around while John dumps the garbage into the can. It’s one of those stupid 1-foot wide holes instead of a proper chute. I pity John and the other patrons. Burger King should invest in better garbage disposal. He finishes his business and leads the way out the door.

“Why is it so… hot?” I say, suddenly noticing the temperature difference between here and Washington.

“We’re in California now, Dirk. Get used to your suffering.”

“Don’t tell me I have to sleep with you again in Anaheim. You were really warm.”

“Hey! I had nothing to do with that. You had every blanket on you all night. You even stole mine.”

“Sounds like something a human furnace would say.”

“Oh, hush you. You know I’m innocent!”

_ A little too innocent _ , I think to myself.

“Ready for a whole lot of nothing for several hours?” John starts the car.

“It won’t be much different than the rest of this trip.”

“True, that.”

I almost look forward to it. John’s gonna talk my ear off, and I don’t think I’ll mind. John and I are really hitting it off anyway. What else could happen?


	7. Chapter 7

“Sacramento? More like… suck-ramento,” says John, giving me a pair of finger guns.

“Yeah. How long have you been holding on to that?”

“Since you complained about it when we crossed the city limit.”

“Well I’m glad I had the sole honor of hearing such literary genius.” I gesture vaguely to the emptiness of the restaurant. Nobody goes to IHOP for lunch. Except us. We are the Pancake Kings.

“Thank you, thank you.” John bows his head slightly in accordance with his words. I turn my attention once again to my food. I think I ordered too much, but the pancakes are actually pretty great. You really can’t go wrong with blueberries. I take a bite.

“How’s that real breakfast tasting?” says John.

“Several hours late, but also several degrees better.”

“Degrees?”

“On the food quality scale.”

“What’s that?”

“I just made it up.”

“Okay.” I take another bite of my blueberry pancakes, this time washing it down with orange juice. Truly, this is the breakfast experience I should have had years ago.

“What’s the scale?” asks John.

“I dunno, it’s just a measurement of how good the food is or some shit like that. Sometimes I say stuff, John.”

“I get it, I get it.” John cuts a little bit out of his pancakes and pops it in his mouth. He squints at something in his view, then puts down his fork. He takes his glasses off and rubs them on his shirt. I wonder what it’s like to be nearsighted. Or is he farsighted? It’d probably be weird to ask. Plus, farsightedness is sort of an old people thing, isn’t it? I’m not gonna ask.

“Man, they really lay it on here, huh?” says John, donning his glasses once again.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, this is a lot of food.”

“You brought this upon yourself, John.”

“I have poor food judgement! I can’t be responsible for my own actions!”

“Yeah, right. You’re the one who has a working car and money.” I poke at my food. John adopts a sort of wistful expression.

“Heh, yeah. It only comes at the price of literally any fun,” he says.

“Well, I’m not having much fun either. You need money for that.”

“Actually... not really.” John frowns a little.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, you can go places and eat cool things, but… once you really become an adult, you start feeling like you shouldn’t have friends anymore. Like you’ve grown out of it, you know?”

“I absolutely do not know.”

“Yeah… I don’t know if you ever will. But like, it’s really nice to take a break and just… be a kid again for a couple days. Travel a little. Make friends.” His eyes flicker to me, and then back to the table. “I guess that’s why I’ve been so outgoing on this trip. It’s like, a breath of fresh air.”

“Really hot air.” I really don’t know how to communicate. John’s expression shifts and he smiles again.

“I know, right? It should be a crime to have temperatures like this on this planet.”

“Let’s make it illegal and then arrest the sun.”

“Yeah!”

We don’t say much for a few minutes after that. The pancakes do all the talking. It’s so deserted in this IHOP. There’s some small traffic noises from outside and some clinking from the kitchen, but otherwise there’s nothing but John. Just… John.

His eyes look more tired. Older. But maybe I’m projecting my own idea of him onto his actual behavior. He looks back up at me.

“I’m pretty full. How’s your stomach?” He asks me.

“Same. I’ve still got half a burger in the car.”

“I mean, I hate to waste food.”

“Me too, but considering how much grocery stores and other major corporations waste on a daily basis, we’re fine.”

“Oh, so morality is relative now?” says John, shoving what would probably be his last bite into his mouth.

“I never said that.”

“Sure, sure. Let’s get out of here. I think the waitress is trying to get your number.”

“Agreed.” I shovel in a few more bites before declaring myself victim to the pancakes.

 

\--

 

“Dude! Palm trees!”

“John, we’ve passed like ten already.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t see them, so it didn’t happen.”

“Well, you’ll be seeing a lot more since we’re going further down into this hell state.” We take an exit, slowing down to the speed of a gentle California breeze. The 80s music on the radio seems to get louder as the noise of the road quiets to a whisper.

“I love this song!” says John.

“Whitney Houston? Really?”

“She’s an icon, Dirk. I wanna hear you hit these notes as well as she can.”

“You really don’t.” We take a turn at the gas station, passing several palm trees. John pulls up to a pump and stops, making the music seem even louder. I turn it down. John turns the engine off, but not the radio.

“Lemme finish this song. I will cling to Whitney until I die.”

“Nah, just give me your card. I’ll do it,” I offer.

“That’d be cool.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He takes his card from its leather pouch and hands it to me.

“Thanks,” I say. I get out of the car.

It’s as hot as shit. It’s so hot. I can feel the soles of my shoes melting into the pavement. I curse several heinous curses under my breath and shut the car door. These pants are like a wearable swamp. They barely fit me. Did I really pack my loose pants? It’s practically a dress on me. Why did I bring these pants? I curse my own existence, then proceed to the pump.

As I swipe John’s card, a faint noise comes from the car. I hear John singing along to Whitney through the door.

“ _ I wanna dance with somebody! _ ” His voice is really squeaky. He can’t sing, but he sure is going for it. I half-smile. I wonder if he was suppressing the urge to sing this whole time. I should reassure him once I get back in the car. If I can figure out how to do that.

I put the pump in the car and press the button. I contemplate dousing myself in gasoline and setting myself on fire. It would probably cool me down. But I don’t, because that would make me die and stuff. Not that I don’t want to do that, but it’d probably make John upset.

Should I wait in the car where it’s less hot? No, that’s awkward. I don’t wanna crash John’s party and then leave seconds later. I chill out at the pump. I’m using the word “chill” loosely here. If anything needs to be more chill, it’s the weather.

I gaze to my left at the hills of brown and orange. The sky is such a shocking blue, but the grass is so brown. So much brown-ass grass. Maybe if we came down here during winter or something, this whole trip would have been prettier. But I dunno. Maybe it’s growing on me. It seems like the absence of green makes me appreciate the blue sky more.

_ How artsy and ponderous _ , I think to myself.

The pump clicks. Wrap-up time.

I grab the pump and tap the nozzle a few times. John’s singing grows quieter in anticipation of my arrival back in the car. Come on, John. This is a no-judgement zone. I hang the pump back up in its holster. Is it called a holster? If it’s not, it should be. I circle back around to the passenger side and hop in.

“Thanks,” says John as I hand him his credit card.

“No problem.” Should I tell him he can sing? No, that’s weird. Well… actually, he’s probably the most comfortable person to tell stuff to. Maybe I should just go for it. He starts the car and watches the gas gauge rise to the top.

“Y’know, John… if you wanna sing, you can.” He gives me a look. I don’t know what kind of look.

“You heard me?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s okay. I mean, it was pretty terrible but…” Shit. Backpedal. Backpedal. John laughs.

“Yeah, I don’t really know how to sing. But you’re sure it won’t annoy you too much? I can totally stop if you don’t like it.”  
“There are very few things I care about in this world, John.”

“Well, you sure care a lot about the weather, don’t you?”

“This is where sinners go after they die. This is literally hell.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Why don’t you refuel next time? I’m sure you’ll love the heat.”

“Maybe I will.” John shifts gears and gently presses the gas. I try to center myself in my seat, but my leg won’t move. I look down to see the problem. My pant leg is caught in the door. I open and close the door to fix the error.

“What was that?” says John.

“Nothing. Just pants in the door.”

“How loose are those pants?”

“Really loose. I don’t know why I packed it.”

“Maybe we should trade. These ones are way tight.” I glance over. Yeah. Those pants are really tight on John. My eyes linger on John’s pants as I come to a realization.

“Wait… are we wearing each other’s pants?”

“Huh. Probably. Same color. Easy to get confused.”

“Dude. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird about it? Just an honest mistake.”

“I don’t know if you get it. We’re like, wearing each other’s clothes.”

“Yeah. What’s the big deal? It’s just pants. Do you want them back?”

“No, no, we can wait for our next stop. Don’t… don’t take off your pants.” He grins.

“If you say so, man. You’re just kinda swimming in those.”

“Yeah, I know.” It’s hot in here. I thought the car would be a haven from the outside heat. Apparently not.

“We’ll stop later for a pants exchange.”

“Okay.” 

We’re back on the freeway. The road ahead stretches into infinity. It looks like an art tutorial. I think. I only do shit art. On purpose, of course.

“300 miles to LA,” comments John, pointing to the sign that reads “LOS ANGELES 299”.

“How far we’ve come.”

“It’s been a grueling journey,” says John, adopting a grizzled impression of a fantasy adventurer. “We’ve fought long and hard for our destination.”

“Ha. Long and hard.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Go on.”

“You threw me off.”

“Oh.”

“Thanks, Dirk.”

“You’re welcome.” A song comes on the radio. The opening refrain is a simple piano line. John’s fingers tap out the opening melody on his leg. He must play piano or something.

“Isn’t this the song where the guy’s leaving on a boat but then he gets abducted by aliens?” I ask. My knowledge of 80s rock is spotty, but not absent.

“Yep. It’s my jam. My dad used to sing it to me when I was a kid. It’s not exactly a lullaby, but he made it work.”

“Could he sing?”

“Nope.”

“So that’s where you get it from.”

“Yep.” He leans over and turns up the music just as the vocals start.

 

_ I’m sailing away _

_ Set an open course for the virgin sea _

_ ‘Cause I’ve got to be free _

_ Free to face the life that’s ahead of me _

_ On board, I’m the captain _

_ So climb aboard _

_ We’ll search for tomorrow _

_ On every shore _

_ And I’ll try _

_ Oh Lord, I’ll try _

_ To carry on _


	8. Chapter 8

There are no trees in Los Padres National Forest. At least not this part of it.

I assumed that since it’s called a “forest”, there would be some semblance of foliage. But as far as I can see, this “forest” does not have a tree in sight. Forest. More like… snore-est.

But all things aside, it does feel different than the rest of the road. Maybe it’s a liminal-space kind of thing. Like the empty IHOP. Just more dusty.

“You feel that too?” John says.

“Maybe? I mean, it’s kinda like IHOP.”

“Dusty?”

“Yeah… wait. Was IHOP dusty?”

“I dunno. Have you ever seen a restaurant being dusted?”

“Have you ever been to a maid cafe?”

“Touche.” John turns off the staticy mess of what’s left of his favorite radio channel. The silence in the car is strange. I glance at John’s face. He looks restless.

“What’s up,” I say without thinking.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you’ve got something to say.”

“I’ve always got something to say. Have you met me?”

“Well, yeah. But this time it looks like it’s actually important.” John sighs at the road.

“Everything shows up on my face, huh?”

“Pretty much. So what’s up?”

“Okay. I don’t wanna, like… press you for information or anything…” Uh oh. “But I don’t feel like I know anything about you, Dirk! This whole time, I’ve just been talking about myself. I don’t even know about your family, your past, anything! You could be a pothead for all I know.”

“John…” I begin. His eyes flicker to me, glittering with interest. “It’s time I came clean with you.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m a meth addict on the run from the law. This is my third day out of jail. They’re almost on me. I don’t have much time.”

“Dirk!”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Come on! Stop being so tight! You can tell me stuff, you know.”

“Tight? Jake could tell you otherwise.” John looks at me confusedly, and then frowns.

“Fine. Dunno why I bother asking,” he mutters. His eyes fixate on the road. I can almost hear his disappointment stab me in the chest in the resulting silence. It’s so quiet. What’s with the energy here? Come on, Dirk. Say something useful.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I cover up my insecurities by using jokes to erase my personality.” Dammit.

“Maybe it is. Haven’t you thought of that?” He still isn’t looking at me.

“Only every waking day of my life,” I mutter. John reaches up and rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand.

“Sorry, I just… hate driving for this long. It gets to my head.” I say nothing for a bit, then I make a pivotal decision.

“Me too.” This could lead somewhere I really don’t like.

“You’re not even driving!”

“No, that’s… not what I meant. Like, riding in a car for this long. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why?... If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid.” I sigh.

“I’m just… My parents…” He looks at me again, piercing blue eyes fixated on mine as I try to make a point. “Okay. They died. Both of them, when I was little.”

“In a car crash?”

“Yeah. And I don’t… I shouldn’t be uncomfortable. I wasn’t even in the car. I was too young to remember if I was anyway.”

“So… you’re scared of your own mind?”

“What?”

“You see it as a force of nature you can’t control, so you just let it do whatever.”

“How in hell did you get that…? No! Maybe?”

“Right, sorry, sorry. So… who brought you up?”

“Basically jack shit. I mean, my brother was old enough to watch me, but one day he just left. He told me he was going to join the Army. But who knows. He left me there and I lived on my own for weeks before the child protection services found me.” John is speechless. He blinks several times, like he’s trying to clear this sudden revelation from his eyes.

“I’m… That’s terrible.”

“Yep.”

“You look so okay with it!”

“That’s because I am.”

“No, you’re not!” He gives a half-laugh. “It took you so long to actually tell me this.”

“It took like two minutes!”

“I mean on this whole trip.”

“Well excuse me for not dumping my entire tragic life story on a complete stranger!”

“I did.”

“Well, your story isn’t tragic. Also you’re talkative.”

“Only to people I’m really comfortable with.”

“You sure warmed up to me pretty quick.”

“Yeah.” He looks me dead in the eyes, as if he’s saying something obvious.

“What?”

“I trust you, Dirk. I don’t know why.” Wait, he meant to say that?

“That’s… weird.”

“Yeah.”

The atmosphere hasn’t lifted. The air seems to be frozen in place, thick like a syrup. I press the button that makes the car suck in fresh air from outside, and it comes out warm. The sweat on my palms doesn’t dry.

“Why me?” I ask. “I’m the least trustworthy person I know.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“That’s the thing. I do agree with you. I shouldn’t trust you, but you’ve made me forget why I was coming down here in the first place!”

“StarCraft. I forgot about that.”  
“See? I could have stressed about it for the whole trip, but I guess it pays to have a traveling buddy, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He smiles, and the air lifts to a crisp lightness.

\--

 

“We’re here!”

“We’re so here, dude.” I look at my phone to check if we’re here. We’re here. In Anaheim. I stare down the dirty stucco walls of the buildings around us. “This place is… really run-down.”

“I know, right? You’d think it would be like a Disneyland paradise. Turns out it’s just basically the bad parts of LA.”

“Who cares, dude? We’re here.”

“Heck yeah we are!”

“You might wanna exit right now.”

“Gotcha.” We pull onto a large, sweeping overpass and join onto another freeway.

“That’s the last we’ll see of I-5.”

“It served us well!”

“Amen.” A retaining wall blocks our view of the surroundings, but palm trees and other leafy trees peek out at the freeway. It’s just like Seattle, but very, very warm. And also nothing like Seattle.

“We’ve made pretty good time,” says John. “It’s not even 5 o’clock yet! I’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

“Right, practice. Do you need, like… help memorizing counters or something?”

“Dude. I learned my counters back in silver.”

“Right, right. Just checking.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nah. I mean, I didn’t try or anything. It was just something I picked up along the way.”

“Okay. Because that works.”

“Don’t sass me, young man. You don’t know my life.”

“Who’s competing in a tournament tomorrow?”

“You and like, 200 other people.”

“More than that, hopefully. The max is 256. There’s gonna be a few empty spots. Hope I get matched against one of them. I might win.”

“Maybe.” We’re mere miles away from our destination. I look down at the directions to our motel on my phone.

“So I’m looking for a Motel 6?”

“Yep.” He exhales a laughlike breath.

“Maybe this one won’t have any furries.”

“What?”

“You didn’t see the furries in Weed?”

“You… Oh, wow. That makes a lot more sense thinking back.”

“You were looking right out the door when a big orange one went by!”

“Guess I was spacing out?” John’s grin widens.

“You didn’t even hear them last night?”

“It was nighttime. I was sleeping.”

“It was 7:30!”

“I fell asleep quickly.”

“Obviously you did. I think it was that orange one making the most noise. I saw them with a blue one this morning. I think they were…”

“Yiffing?”

“I wasn’t gonna say that!”

“You were implying it.”

“That’s… can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Too late.” 

We pull off the freeway to a stoplight under an overpass. I can’t wait to get somewhere other than the car. I run through the next series of events in my head.

“So how many days are we gonna stay?”

“Depends. If I make it through the open bracket, I’ll be qualified for pool play. It’s unlikely, but possible.”

“Yeah, but how many days is that?”

“Pool play spans two days, then it opens up to championships on the third day. There’s absolutely no way I’m getting into those.”

“So we should reserve two days?”

“I mean, I probably won’t make it that far…”

“Two days it is.”

“Okay? I mean, that’s fine…”

“It’s simple psychology. You believe you’re going to make it through the open bracket, you make it through the open bracket.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to?”

“Do you?”

“Uhh… kinda?”

“I’m pretty sure you meant ‘yes’.”

“Yes…?”

“There we go.”

“There it is!”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“No, there’s the Motel 6 sign. We’re here!”

“Oh, rad.”

 

\--

 

I’m very pleased to see two queen-size beds in this hotel room. The rest of it is kind of sparse and dated in terms of decoration and it’s a little dirty around the corners, but I couldn’t care less. John doesn’t seem to care either. The first thing he does once he sets foot in the room is kick off his shoes and set up his laptop.

“The wifi here probably isn’t that good, but I can try to pull off some practice matches,” he commentates for no reason.

“Don’t you want your pants back?”

“Oh, right, the pants! Uhh…” He glances at his computer. “I think I need shorts from here on out. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“So you don’t want your ass where my ass was? Typical John.”

“No, I literally just said I needed shorts.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I don’t have time to play games, Dirk. Now let me play games.”

“Without stopping for shorts?”

“Yes.”

“All right, fine. I’ll just be here looking for memes.”

“Have fun.”

“You too.” I look for memes, just as I promised.

After a few minutes, I look over to John. He’s patiently awaiting a ladder matchup, fingers tapping on the wooden desk. The light from the window is streaming into the room, right onto his side. Some of the light diffuses in his hair, giving it a bluish sheen.

I involuntarily blink and take a shallow breath.

John must be having the same internet issues as me. That’s kind of a bummer for him. And also me. Him and me. I should talk to him.

“Any luck?”

“Not yet. This wifi isn’t very good.”

“Would you get matched with anyone practicing for the tournament?”

“It’s possible.”

“Cool.” John doesn’t say anything in response. Guess I’m not conversing right now.

I should look at my memes. Not at John. I’ve been looking at his sorry face for eighteen hours. I need a break. 

...Right?


	9. Chapter 9

“Here we are,” says John triumphantly as we pull into the parking lot of the Anaheim Convention Center. The building is tall, shiny, and very unlike the rest of Anaheim. The curves of polished glass reflect the palm trees surrounding it, making it look like a Mercedes car dealership.

“You sound confident,” I say,.

“It’s a disguise. I’m, like, really nervous.” I can’t really see it in anything but his eyes. They’re wider than usual.

“Nah, you’re good. We booked two nights for a reason.”

“I know,” John says, glancing sideways at me. “I should try to think positive, right?”

“Yeah. Like I know anything about that.”

“As long as I’m better than you!”

“Unlikely.” He pauses, then opens his door. I follow suit.

The sounds of our shoes tapping on the concrete mimic several others belonging to a few other players. These people are mostly pasty white men like myself. Kind of ironic how I, the pastiest of us two, am not the one that’s going to be playing.

John passes in front of me, and I note how he’s sporting his comfiest shorts. We walk to the door, and he holds it open for me.

“Ladies first,” he says. I look him in the eye and fail to suppress a smile.

“If that’s true, my lady, I should return the favor.” I hold open the next set of doors for him. He squints at me as he walks past. I have a feeling he would have flipped me off if he was a cruder gentleman.

We enter an extremely empty front room. It has that convention-center feel. It’s really big and kinda foreboding, but weirdly fancy. Scattered conversations echo through the entrance, too reverberated to make out any words.

“This is it,” sighs John.

“Yep.”

“You know where we’re going?”

“Nope. Let’s just follow everyone else. They probably know.”

“I like your thinking.” The few people streaming into the convention center seem to be heading in a consistent direction, so that’s the direction we decide to go. John is walking slightly ahead of me in some sort of nervous confidence. He appears unusually stiff, and his arms aren’t swinging that much. I inadvertently direct my gaze to his right hand. I wonder if his hands are soft. That’s a weird thing to wonder. I look away.

Within minutes, we follow the trickle into a large room. John, who was several paces ahead of me, looks back to check if I’m with him.

“I guess this is orientation?” John says.

“I guess.” The room is lined with chairs facing a central stage. Large monitors adorn the far wall, suggesting that they’ll probably reuse this room for a championship match later. The lights are dim, except for on the stage. John and I take a seat at a reasonable distance from the front.

“I’m so nervous!” John whispers, once seated.

“I believe that’s been addressed.”

“Yeah, but that’s how I feel! I can’t help but talk about it!”

“I guess that’s fine.” I don’t feel like making a pointless argument.

It’s about 15 minutes until the lights dim even more and the crowd begins cheering. Another pasty white dude takes the stage and addresses the audience with confidence. I wish I could do that, ever.

“How are you guys feeling today?” he says into a microphone.

“Eh,” I say in a normal tone as everyone else whoops and yells. “Had better days.” John grins at me, but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you all ready for the 2014 MLG Anaheim tournament?” says the announcer. More cheering from the crowd. He continues.

“I’m glad to see all the enthusiasm! This is quite the turnout, I’m impressed!”

“Not really,” says John into my ear. “None of the europeans are here because there’s another tournament somewhere over there at the same time as this one.”

“Before we begin, we have a couple rules to get out of the way,” says the announcer. I space out at about this point, since my decorum isn’t really going to be judged in a match. Instead, I watch John. He’s paying attention to the announcer, but he glances at me once or twice. I think he saw me looking at him. I fix my eyes on my own hands for no reason.

“You guys think you can do that?” asks the announcer. The crowd cheers again. I feel my heart rate stutter. Probably because of the sudden noise of the masses around me. Probably.

I reach up to my warm face to cool it with my cold hands.

 

\--

 

The orientation lasted only a few minutes before the announcer sent most of the players off to the open bracket. He gave us a room number, and most of the players knew where to go. John and I followed the stream of people.

The room we found ourselves in is quite large and lined with rows and rows of computers stationed back-to-back. Numbers are sticking up over them like flags of blue and white. I assume those are the station numbers. The crowd disperses around the room as officials with sheets of paper direct the players to their seats. John approaches one.

“Username?” asks the staff member.

“Heir.”

“Heir? You are…” he traces his finger down the paper. “Station 13.”

“Thank you!” says John. He checks behind him to see if I’m there. I am. He smiles, then motions for me to follow him.

John half-jogs to the far end of the room where the lower-numbered stations are. I follow just as quickly. I almost run into the sharp end of one of the desks, but I avoid doing so with my superior agility and maneuverability. Too bad nobody noticed.

John slows down as he nears his seat for the first round. There’s enough room for me to stand behind him without encroaching upon the row behind us, so I do so. John takes a seat and takes a deep breath.

“If I die tonight… remember me,” he says.

“No doubt,” I reply.

Soon, John’s opponent takes the seat at the computer opposite John. He looks up and extends his hand for a friendly handshake.

“You’re Nathanias?” says John.

“Yep,” says Nathanias. “You Heir?”

“Yeah,” says John. “You ready?” Nathanias shrugs and blinks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Nathanias is average in build and has a confident voice. He looks like a guy that would do regular StarCraft streams on Twitch. He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I assumed he wouldn’t anyway.

The two nod and begin their match.

I notice that both players are Terrans, and both of them are in the Grandmaster league. This’ll be a close match. I wonder just how good John is. And also how good Nathanias is. I step a few paces back to give the players room to compete.

At first, I feel awkward just sorta standing around, but I soon see others doing the same. I relax my posture and turn to the game at hand. The beginning part of the match where the mineral collection happens isn’t that exciting, but it’s much shorter than the dead time I have in my own matches. I guess these guys are just that good. John begins collecting vespene gas way before I would, but I guess that’s a strategy. Before I can blink twice, he has two barracks and a starport.

His screen flicks back and forth across the map. He sends out scouts as soon as he has them and he does not hesitate to pounce upon anything he reveals. His eyes dart here and there, holding the reflection of his screen. I see nothing but focus in those eyes. I see them glint in delight as he destroys his opponent’s double-barrack proxy.

I can tell his pulse is racing. Mine is, too. It’s a sympathetic pulse. For a while, it’s the only sound I care to hear. The chatter and computer noises in the background fade away. John’s doing so well. I can almost hear his breathing.

My body floods with a mix of emotions.

I don’t believe them. They’re excitement, nothing more.

I see a glimpse of a cloaked banshee. Is it Nathanias’? I can’t tell. John’s movements are getting faster. His APM must be through the roof. I’ve never seen so many control groups in my life. John makes a small grunting noise as his micro skills fail to defend his workers on one base.

The emotions flood me again. I don’t listen.

A red marker appears on the minimap. One that’s not supposed to be there. John flicks to that part of the map, revealing an army of banshees ravaging his workers.

I watch John’s expression change.

He builds as many ravens and vikings as he can afford. His mineral supplies are dangerously low. By the time they approach the banshee army, the base is done for. He can only defend what he has. The ravens and vikings fight off the banshees, but Nathanias’ other armies are closing in at an alarming rate.

John knows he’s done for. I know it too. But he keeps fighting.

Before long, John has turrets surrounding his bases. He won’t let this be the match he loses. Nathanias is relentless. I don’t see his expression. I only see John and his failing army.

John doesn’t have enough minerals. Nathanias cut them off so quickly, John couldn’t recover from the banshee attack. John’s marauders face against Nathanias’ hellions, but Nathanias has too many. They tear a hole through John’s defenses and leave his base exposed. John lifts several undestroyed buildings over to his last remaining base. Nathanias hasn’t discovered it. Maybe this will be John’s comeback.

John’s vespene reserves are low. He can only afford a large marine army. Even I know that he won’t stand a chance against those hellions. John knows it too.

John sighs as Nathanias discovers his last base. His actions slow to a stop as he realizes there is no hope in victory.

John surrenders the match, and slumps in his seat.

I feel an electric surge run up my spine. John’s eyes are so blue and forlorn. They don’t light up from his smile.

I miss his smile.

… Shit.

“Good game, Heir!” says Nathanias, extending his hand for a second handshake. John gives him a polite smile and shakes his hand. I can tell John is really disappointed. I should say something.

“I haven’t seen you play before,” I say. John turns to look at me and I lose track of my words for a split second. “You’re, uh, really good.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” says John, rubbing the back of his head. “Man… what a bummer. Lost in the first round!”

“To be fair, he was really good.”

“I guess,” says John, giving an attempt to lighten his own mood. “I think I recognized him anyway. I wonder what from.”

“Who knows?”

“I dunno.” He pauses, and I don’t know what to say.

“So… that’s not it, right? You’ve still got another match?”

“Yeah,” says John, tilting his head a little. “There’s still the loser’s bracket. If I win every match from now on, I’ll qualify for pool play.” I feel my heart lift a little in sympathy.

“Well, I guess you’ll do that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Didn’t you see me forget to put up turrets?”

“That’s just one mistake. You’re way better than you give yourself credit for.” John slowly smiles at me, and I feel a flutter in the pit of my stomach.

“Thanks, Dirk. I’ll do it for you.”

For me?

I’m weirdly okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anything completely wrong with the way I've portrayed this tournament, I apologize. I have never been to an actual StarCraft tournament, let alone one in 2014! If you spot something wrong, don't hesitate to tell me in the comments.  
> Also, Nathanias is a real person. Look him up! He's a semi-popular caster for Blizzard games.


End file.
